


Special Delivery for Nota Chance

by StormEye7



Series: When a Hunter Loves a Titan [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Oneshot, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 06:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormEye7/pseuds/StormEye7
Summary: On the day before a mighty incursion, Nota Chance, a spy for the War Cult, receives the strangest of deliveries from the strangest of sources.





	Special Delivery for Nota Chance

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I put together for an RP server that I'm a part of. I might write more on it, I might not. Who knows?

**The Last Safe City, Earth**

Nota Chance wasn't exactly sure when she had made the decision to move in to Quinn's apartment, only that in the days following her first meeting with the beautiful Titaness, she had. 

Piece by piece, day by day, she had added her modest selection of civilian clothing to Quinn's wardrobe, added whatever spare armour she had to the corner shelving alongside her partner's, as well as assembling a stout weapon rack for her not-in-use armaments. 

It was as if Quinn and herself had known each other for much longer than a mere week. The Titaness in question had not voiced a single concern or problem with Nota moving in. On the contrary, Quinn seemed rather pleased with the new arrangement. 

So, on the day prior to Nota's second incursion into the Dreaming City, the Hunter could be found sat cross-legged upon her and Quinn's bed, a thick blanket draped around herself like a cocoon, so that only the Hunter's tall plume of violet hair was exposed to the air. Her Ghost, Goldie, sat on a plump cushion beside her, as the two watched some mundane TV show the two had found on the Vanguard network. 

As a few more minutes of uninteresting television passed her by, a dull thumping sounded from the front door. Casting a glance to her Ghost, Nota rose from her slouch on the mattress, discarding the blanket as she swiftly acquired a pair of trousers and moving over to answer whoever it was that was outside. 

As the door opened, Nota was greeted by an odd sight. A Frame. More precisely, a Post-Frame, holding what appeared to be a long wooden crate in its arms with a smaller, more hand-sized and flatly shaped box perched atop it. Despite their lack of similar shape, both were made of a similar components: walnut-stained wood, and steely green metal trimmings on the corners and clasps. 

“Delivery for Nota Chance,” the Frame said in that familiar robotic monotone, holding out the boxes for her to take. 

Nota visibly recoiled, taken-aback on two fronts. One, she wasn't aware that she'd ordered anything, at least nothing that a Post-Frame would be tasked to deliver, and even if she were to order any ‘merchandise’ for her business, she wouldn't dare have it sent to Quinn's apartment. 

That led to the second problem. She wasn't aware that she'd told anybody about her new living arrangements. Not a word to the Cult, to any of her colleagues, she hadn't even told Isa, at least not yet. 

“Who's it from?” the Hunter asked, shrewdly, eyeing the Frame with a suspicious eye. 

After a few moments of silence, the Frame repeated, most obnoxiously, “Delivery for Nota Chance.”

Rolling her eyes, Nota took the boxes from the machine, watching it turn and walk back up the outside corridor as the boxes left its grip. Stepping back into the room, Nota closed the door again, before setting the larger crate down on the floor. 

She started with the smaller box. It was about the size of her hand, if splayed out fully, and it appeared to be openable from the lengthways. The design was similar to the cigar boxes the Hunter had once owned back when her favourite cigar shop wasn't a complete mess of rubble before the Red War. 

Opening the box up, Nota felt a wide grin form on her lips. Inside were a selection of seven neatly rolled, almost hand-length cigars. More questions began forming in Nota's mind, but she pushed them aside as she picked one of the cigars up. They weren't just like the ones she used to buy, they were the ones she used to buy. She was dearly tempted to light one of them up then and there, but she wasn't entirely sure if Quinn's reaction to the Hunter smoking in the apartment would be positive. 

Reluctantly closing the box up (for now, at least), she set it aside to turn her attention to the larger, much more prominent crate. It was sealed with heavy-looking clasps, but it didn't look to be locked. Undoing said clasps, she gently threw the crate’s lid back, revealing something a tad more impressive than cigars. 

The crate contained a weapon, a rifle to be exact. Its design was old school, though its metal and wooden parts looked brand new and shiny. It's sight was clear, and slightly green in colouration and its magazine was large, easily storing more than enough bullets for multiple targets. 

Its oddest feature, however, was a thick beige leather belt wrapped around the barrel just before the magazine. Fixed to this belt, was a coin. A large, acid green, expertly carved with the likeness of a sinister two-headed snake. The tell-tale sigil of the one who called himself Drifter. 

Nota was confused as ever. Why would the Drifter not only send her a weapon, but a box of cigars that Nota was known to buy, and how the hell did he know that this apartment was where she was staying? Plucking the Auto Rifle from its confines, Nota stood back up. 

She rested the stock against her shoulder, brain whizzing with more questions than answers. That was until she spotted a wad of paper lying in the now empty crate. Nota picked it up, reading the sparse words written messily upon it. 

_You got enemies, sister. More than most. I hope Breakneck here helps._

_\- D_

Well… that was certainly an explanation, even if it wasn't one that Nota was entirely happy with. Goldie had left her perch on her cushion, and had watched the unboxing with a started, silent eye. Nota turned around to face her, still holding the gun. 

“Breakneck,” Nota muttered, as if tasting the word on her tongue, “It's got a ring to it, don't it, Little Light?”


End file.
